Pieces Of Eight
by Oceanfeather
Summary: Roadtrip, Fun & Tacos - People keep dying and the Winchester's cannot seem to stop it from happening again - It's like the Hunting of the Snark, only there is no Snark, just numbers...and lots of them. They could mean something, or maybe not?
1. Chapter 1

**A very short story in 8 chapters. I wish I could say it was written in 8 days too, but that would be just too much of a coincidence now, wouldn't it. I hope you enjoy the story in itself and the hidden references in there.**

– **Enjoy and review **_**a lot**_**-**

* * *

_**PIECES OF EIGHT**_

**-Fit the First-**

"So talk me through this again Sammy. We are going _where_ and _why_ exactly?"

Sam, who was battling with the big Arizona roadmap on his lap, didn't dare to look at his brother. He feared that if he took his eyes off the map for only one second he would loose track of the location he was trying to direct them to.

"Dude!" Dean said, glancing at the vast flat terrain around them, spiked with giant cacti and even a rare Boojum tree once in a while.

"There is just desert for miles! And it's freakin' hot too!"

"I know. Just keep going for another few miles. What does the odometer say now?"

"61 miles, why?"

"Keep going for 3 more miles then stop."

"What? In the middle of a freakin' Interstate?"

"Yeah! _In the middle of a freakin' Interstate_! Dude! You pull over on the hard shoulder of course!"

"_Mnm-nmn-mnjeee!"_ Dean said, mocking Sam and giving him a dirty look. "So when do you tell me exactly what we're after?"  
Sam sighed and impulsively crushed the map down into his lap.

"There has been an accident on this very highway a few days ago."

"An accident? Phew, wow! I mean, that _is_ pretty unusual Dude, even for us!"

"Oh shut up Dean!"

"64 miles, here we go!" Dean announced and whilst only briefly checking for traffic, he let the car abruptly swerve over 2 lanes into the dusty soft shoulder. The sudden turn took Sam by surprise and he was trying to hold on to anything as the Impala ended up on a rather soft shoulder, bouncing and hurling dust and gravel up into the rims.

"Hard shoulder my ass! This isn't health for ma' baby, you know!"  
"Stop whining!"

"Ok, so now what, Navigator-Boy?"

"We look around; see if we can find some debris from the accident."

"Man, I hate the desert" Dean complained as he got out, the hot dry air hitting his face like nuclear wind, his lungs seemingly petrifying with every new breath.

Sam had already opened the trunk to get the EMF from his rucksack.

"We got any water?" Dean said looking as if he was in terrible pain, rubbing his chest.

"Yeah, here" Sam said pushing a plastic bottle into his stomach.

"_Huh_! Thanks!"

"Don't mention it" Sam mumbled and started off, searching down the soft hard shoulder for clues, while Dean went into the other direction, looking miserable. It must have been over 100ºF as he was already sweating through his shirt, so he took it off and wrapped it loosely around his hips leaving him only with a washed out black T-shirt with a faded Metallica print. He suddenly wished he had a cowboy hat to keep his brain in the shade.

Dean loved the sun on a nice beach when there were always plenty of women to look at and cold drinks to sip, but as he looked across the vast desert, framed by some vague shape of a chain of mountains on the horizon, he felt really lost. There was no one for miles and the rough sand was not exactly kind to the Impala's paintjob. He had been through a sandstorm once, unable to see beyond the black bonnet and he really didn't fancy another visit down the bodyshop to get his whole car re-sprayed just yet.

"Found anything yet?" He yelled back at his brother who, in the distance, shook his head.

"Like a needle in a goddamn sandpit!" Dean mumbled and took another sip from the water bottle keeping his eyes pinned to the ground. He suddenly stopped to avoid an unexpected rendezvous with a signpost. He tilted his head back to see what it had to say.

"Yuma 25 miles. For Casino Follow Next Exit. Next Services 57 miles"

Dean couldn't remember if they even had enough fuel in the tank to get to the next gas station in time. He somehow had a horrible feeling it was down to 6/8 by now. He turned around to look at Sam in the far distance kicking some sand with is shoe inspecting something, it seemed.

If they ran out of gas in the middle of Arizona he would make Sam walk all the way to Mexico just for the sake of it he thought, clenching his teeth.

"How far are we from Mexico?"

"What?" Sam yelled back.

"Do you have sand in your ears?"

"What?"

"The idiot says what?"  
"What?"

Dean giggled satisfied with that answer and decided to walk back to the car.

* * *

There was no debris to be found along the shoulder, so Sam waited for a gap in the scarce traffic first before running towards the middle partition of the 4-lane Interstate. Dean leaned against the hot Impala drinking more water, wishing it was a cold beer instead.

He couldn't quite share Sam's passion for this assignment; so far it didn't even look like a real case. Accidents happened all the time.

"Got something!" Sam shouted over, suddenly rising up between the concrete boulders.

"I'll be damned" Dean mumbled, throwing the water bottle on the driver seat and checking that no truck was going to get him, crossing the highway as well.

As he came closer he could hear the whining of the EMF meter Sam held over some glass chards and bumper pieces by his feet. When Dean looked along the dividers he spotted more debris, and some torn truck tires.

"How did the accident actually happen?" Dean's interest was sparked now.

"Well, _that_ is yet to be determined. It was an 8 car pile-up, but only one person died in the crash. His name was Frank Zeller, heading west towards Yuma."

Dean looked towards the sign he nearly had wrapped himself around.

"You think what I'm thinking?"

"I doubt it very much" Sam truthfully replied.  
"Perfect! I am thinking the Winchesters are going to Yuma!" Dean said, ignoring that last comment.

"Why? What's in Yuma?"

Dean grabbed Sam's head swiveling it towards the sign.

"A Casino is in Yuma!" he grinned and Sam rolled his eyes.

* * *

**Yuma, AZ**

As the Impala pulled up in front of the Casino, Sam's eyebrows had a crisis meeting.

"Oh come on Sammy! When's the last time we had a little fun, hm?"

Dean found an empty spot for the Impala and pulled in. Not in a million light-years would he let some penguin park his car for him!  
"I hate Casinos and you know it!"

"Yeah, well, and I hate the godforsaken desert so now we are even. Anyway, these places always have great bars and food – Man I hope they have an All-You-Can-Eat-Special! I am starving." He said dreamily.  
The doors squeaked with an additional creak, indicating that sand was trapped in the hinges. Dean was not amused about this.

It was an Indian Casino build on a reservation and Sam hated the whole concept about them. He felt that Native Americans should have been provided with better options than having to resort to gambling in order to survive. But the irony wasn't completely lost on him as he looked around to see rednecks and cowboys, or weekend couples from Florida or San Diego gamble away their tax money.

"Eat first, win money later?" Dean asked as if there was actually another alternative.

Sam had brought his laptop along so he could do more research while Dean was stuffing his face with endless amounts of Tacos and an extra portion of Buffalo wings.

"I can't put my finger on it, but something doesn't seem right about this pile up" Sam said when suddenly the waitress placed new drinks on their table.

"Are you talking about the pile-up not far from here?" she asked curiously and granted him a cute smile.

Dean, his mouth full and unable to speak for a change, raised his eyebrows at Sam.

"Yeah, actually." Sam smiled back. "Do you know anything about it?"  
"It is pretty weird. One moment this guy leaves a big tip after he wins at Poker, the next I hear on the news is that he gets crushed to death under some truck on the I-8"

"So, he was here before he drove…wait! They said he was heading west, this means he was actually heading _east _from here?"

"Yeah, I told them they got it all wrong but wouldn't change their story. The casino has him on tape and all, but they said it was physically impossible…"

"Why?"

"Because he crashed westwards they said."

"That is weird. Well, thanks.." he took a moment to read her tag "Becky." He smiled like prince charming and made his brother very proud. After all they were carved from the same wood.

"No problem. If you are still around later, I get off my shift around 10" she suggested.

Sam briefly looked at Dean who smiled and nodded encouragingly.

"Yeah, we will be still around then" Sam nodded.

"Okay then" Becky smiled suggestively and traipsed off.

"Dude, nicely done!" Dean said, slapping his brother playfully on the shoulder.

"So I guess we will take a room for the night here?"  
"Correct my brother and I will make sure I'll gamble all night so you have the room all to yourself." Dean said with a big grin and a full mouth, which looked gross and Sam could have happily done without seeing this.

"Quit it! It won't happen!"

"Dude! What is wrong with you!? A girl throws herself at you like that you take it!"

"No Dean, you usually take it.._her_. I don't!"

Dean sighed "I know" and looked longingly at Becky's cute tush as she was serving other customers.

"Dude, you are such a pig!" Sam muttered.


	2. Chapter 2

_**PIECES OF EIGHT**_

**-Fit the Second-**

Last night Dean had been spending money they didn't even have in the first place on Blackjack and Roulette, earning them a small fortune while Sam had stayed back in the bar doing more research until Becky got off her shift. Against Sam's expectations he had a really pleasant night, which did not end in anything. Becky and Sam just talked, until it was eventually time for Sam to collect a drunken, yet jolly Dean and escort him to his bed at around 3 in the morning.

The next morning, reasonably early so the sun was still low, they were on their way westwards into California, shooting down a lonely desert highway. Sam was driving, as Dean didn't quite feel up to the task yet.

"So you are telling me that you and that Becky chick..?"

"Nothing _happened_, Dean! You can put your dirty mind away again!"

Dean looked at Sam; his black Ray Ban's shading an amused glance.

"So you two only _talked_ all night?"  
Sam sighed with frustration staring ahead.

"Why is that so hard for you to accept?"

Dean shook his head, regretting it immediately. His brain felt like it was made of Jell-O. Who could have known they'd serve Purple Nurples at an Indian Casino!

"Remind me why we are heading towards San Diego again, my mind is still a little fuzzy" and my brain won't stop wobbling, he thought.

"Hah! As if that's new!"

"Hey!" Dean tried to sound hurt but was actually enjoying their banter.

"We are going to Cali not to go surfing, that's for sure! Last night Becky told me that just over a week ago a woman from San Diego died at the casino during a game of bingo!"

"Let me guess! A cute old lady gambling away her retirement money?"

"Amanda Bellman. She was 72 and indeed the last thing she yelled was _Bingowe_!" - Sam put a lingering intonation on the "o" - "Then she had a stroke and died on the spot."

"Is that so unusual? I mean considering her age and all?" Dean contested.

"I don't know. Could be a coincidence or not. Maybe her son can tell us more."

"While we are there, is there any chance we can head down the beach too?"

Sam just gave Dean an annoyed look.

* * *

**San Diego, CA**

Against Dean's pleads to head straight to the beach to check out the female merchandise, both Winchester brothers ended up in a nice suburban neighborhood, pretending to be representatives from the National Gaming Association.

"We are sorry for showing up unannounced, but we would appreciate if we could ask you a few questions Sir."

Chuck Bellman, a chubby guy in his forties, led them into the living room. Dean kept scratching his shoulder discreetly as the suit always itched after it came back from the dry cleaners.

His head was still buzzing from those Purple Nurples shots last night so he was happy for Sam to do all the talking, since he was much better at all that sensitive crap anyways, Dean thought.

"Did your Mother have a history of any related illnesses or sustain any injuries before?"  
"No, she was as healthy as 50 year old, the doctors always said. It happened completely out of the blue."

Sam looked compassionately while Dean just wanted to die in a dark room.

"Did she act strange in any way, or confused, before she went to Yuma? Please understand that we have to ask these questions for our records."

"I only remember that this time she seemed overly excited, I mean she was always excited about Bingo, which I never quite understood " – Dean acknowledged that comment with a sympathetic smile- "but this time she was _really_ excited, like she had already won the jackpot, you know what I mean?"

Sam looked intrigued. "Did she say anything to you?"

Chuck was scanning through his memory. "She actually did. She said something about her fortune being on her side this time. I had no idea what that meant and then 8 days later I get the call that she is dead. Dies during the game she loved most."

"We are very sorry for your loss" Sam said truthfully, his forehead in wrinkles.

"But you know what? The crazy thing about it is…" Chuck suddenly pulled a card out of a pile of paperwork on the coffee table.

"What, Sir?" Sam asked as Chuck handed him her last Bingo card.

"She had won the game! But I never had the heart to take the money. It was just too weird!"

Sam looked at the bingo card in his hand. The pattern on it resembled the number 8 and it was filled out perfectly…

On the way back to the Impala, Dean immediately fished for the sunglasses, covering his eyes with a sigh of relief.

"Can we _now_ go to the beach?" He asked Sam with a begging look as they both opened their doors simultaneously. The sand was still trapped in the hinges, giving Dean goosebumps every time he had to hear that painful crunchy noise.

"Is there nothing else on your mind? We have a case to work here!" Sam said folding his hands on the roof of the car.

"Yeah, but doesn't that mean we can't have fun once in a while? I mean, what are we supposed to do now? Do we have _anything_ to investigate? _Any_ leads?" Dean asked, his arms spread wide open to embrace this fact.  
Sam looked towards his feet "No" he said disappointed that he had nothing else to say to that.

"The beach it is then!" Dean said with an evil grin and back in the driver seat.

* * *

And the beach it was.

The ocean smelled great. Fresh and salty, the exact opposite of the dry desert they had left behind. But Dean wasn't interested in the big endless blue puddle that lay stretched out in front of them, as he parked the Impala at San Diego's busiest beach.

The brother remained seated for a few breaths while taking in the scenery. It was like watching an episode straight out of Baywatch. While the beach was clad with babes, surfer dudes were riding the waves like there was no tomorrow.

The Winchesters being from rural Kansas, had never tried their luck at surfing, but Sammy had always been one of the best swimmers in his class, wining some trophies during high school. As he was biting his lip wondering what to do with himself while Dean would go off on babe-watching, he considered maybe going for a swim.


	3. Chapter 3

_**PIECES OF EIGHT**_

**-Fit the Third –**

**Tucson, AZ**

Jim Prusznowski was an investment banker from Tucson, who also dabbled as a Paramedic in his free time, not only to satisfy his sense for adventure but also to make some much needed money on the side.

It was Wednesday, after business hours, and Jim sat in his office in front of his laptop, with a bottle of bourbon next to it, anxiously monitoring his shares on the stock market.

Since he bought them a few days ago they seemed unstoppable and still rising.

Jim's glance caught sight of the shiny black bauble sitting innocently amongst the paperwork on his antique walnut desk.

He reached for the half full glass of bourbon leaning back in his leather chair, pondering over the black ball. It was an old Magic 8 Ball and Jim had sort of stolen it from the dead Frank Zeller, who had died in the 8 car pile up on the I-8 where he had helped out as a paramedic that night.

He had spent the last moments of Frank's life with him before the light in his eyes went out. The last thing Frank did was to pull Jim close and whisper in his ear "8 Ball" – at first Jim didn't know what he had meant but then he saw amongst the debris, the shiny bauble. Jim immediately felt enthralled and a strange feeling came over him and he knew that he had to have it.

Jim's financial career had been everything but good. He was in great debt as the latest investment had gone horribly wrong. Then, a few days ago, after he got the Magic 8 Ball, and maybe out of shear curiosity or frustration and probably quite drunk, he had asked it if he should buy shares of this new startup software company that had just entered the stock market. And much to his relief the ball said "As I see it, Yes". So in a blind leap of faith Jim had put all the money he could scrape together into this investment and couldn't believe his luck as the share seemed to be making him actual money.

He toasted the old bakelite ball good night, emptied his glass and went upstairs to bed.

* * *

**San Diego, CA**

Back in San Diego the Winchester's boardshorts wearing holiday found an abrupt end as Sammy had finally discovered more evidence that something wasn't quite right in the state of Denmark or in this case, in the state of California.

During the past few days, while Dean had collected girls, Sam had collected several news clippings and reports of 3 more unsolved cases of sudden death in the California area, tracing the first one back to Los Angeles.

Amelia McKensey, a mother from Santa Monica, had fatally slipped and cracked her skull in a bakery in downtown LA the day she was picking up a birthday cake for her son's 8th birthday.

Ronald Beaver, who was tragically hit by a bus of the downtown line No.8, was last seen crossing 8th avenue without looking. The 3rd case Sam had found was that of a movie lawyer from Anaheim, who was found shot dead, 8 fatal times. It wasn't a robbery and no gang related shooting took place at the time.

"I have 3 cases that could be connected, but I cannot figure out how" Sam sighed staring at the wall of their motel room which was decorated with all sorts of news clippings and info material. Amongst it was a roadmap that indicated where all the victims had died, marking a clear line down from LA to San Diego, then east towards Yuma and the I-8 further into Arizona.

"You think whatever it is it could be traveling further East?" Dean said looking up from their Dad's journal. Sam, standing in front of the map with a marker pen, took a step back.

"It sure looks like it – What is it? A demon? Coz spirits don't usually travel!"

"Not unless the spirit is bound to an object that does" Dean was throwing in a helpful comment for a change.

"Possible" Sam acknowledged but sighing deeply "But we have no idea what it is!"

"Yeah, it could be absolutely _anything_" It was Dean's turn to sigh and rub his eyes.

"This case doesn't make any sense. I mean, let's assume it's an object, how does it get passed on to completely unrelated strangers?"

"I don't know" Sam said, collapsing on his bed.

"This makes no sense" Dean said again, utterly frustrated, which usually resulted in the TV being switched so he could take his mind of things.

Cartoons or Porn usually did the trick for Dean, but the first channel that came on was the News channel. Just as he wanted to change it to lighter entertainment, Sam shot up yelling to wait and leave the news on. With a disappointed sigh Dean left it.

"Turn it up, will you!" Sam demanded his eyes fixed on the TV.

A news reporter was at the alleged scene where an unexplained gas explosion had ripped apart a house in the greater Tucson area. Behind the reporter firemen were still putting out the last smoldering flames amongst what was left of the house.

"He was a local investment banker who in his spare time was a dedicated paramedic. Friends and colleagues say that lately his business hadn't been going well, but unconfirmed sources have told newsweek that the latest investment of the deceased would have been making him a small fortune. He does not leave any fam…"

"Okay geekboy, I think you know what I am thinking _this_ time" Dean said with a suggestive grin.

They both looked at the map pinned to the wall, their eyes on Tucson, which happened to be located undeniably further east form here.

* * *

**Yuma, AZ**

On the way to Tucson via the I-8, they stopped over in Yuma again for Tacos but also to ask Becky for a little favor. The security tapes she managed to acquire for the Winchesters confirmed what Sam and Dean had suspected since they left San Diego. It turned out that Frank Zeller indeed had a brief encounter with Amanda Bellman in the lobby of the Casino, but it did not explain how or what she could have passed on to him that may have caused his death 8 days later.

Back on the I-8 east Sam suddenly had a thought.

"You know whatever this thing is; it seems to be happening every 8 days"

"How you figure Sammy?"

"So far, every death has happened 8 days after the other. And this explosion in Tucson, if the timeline is correct, it also happened 8 days after Frank Zeller died."

"Hey, didn't they say on the news that that guy in Tucson also worked as a paramedic? I bet you a cheeseburger that he was attending the accident!" Dean's mind frolicking over the new findings.

"And Zeller has passed something on that has killed him within 8 days!" Sam added equally excited. Dean was thinking.

"Soooo, we have to find out what and where it is within the next 8 days so it can't kill again?"  
"6 days actually. The explosion happened 2 days ago. Man, it's like finding a needle in a haystack!"

"Only that we don't know if it's a needle."

"It could be absolutely _anything_!"

"Just freaking great!" Dean uttered.


	4. Chapter 4

_**PIECES OF EIGHT**_

**-****Fit the Forth-**

**Tucson, AZ**

After the explosion of Jim Prusznowski's house, a crew of laborers was commissioned to clean up the mess. They were mainly guest workers from Mexico, some with permits, some without.

One of the ones with a permit and a family back in Nogales/Mexico was Fernando Botas. He was in his mid 30s and glad he could earn a living in the US.

As he was sorting through the rubble of Jim Prusznowski's stuff, he pulled out the leg of an antique walnut desk. What a shame, he thought. What a really nice desk.

As he pulled the rest of it out to carry to the skip, he spotted something shiny. It looked black and charred like most items, but as he reached down with his thick leather gloves to pull it out, he saw a white number on it. It was too big to be a billiard ball and he was intrigued to find out what it was.

He had trouble grabbing the smooth thing with his gloves, but when he finally pulled it out, he realized it was a children's toy known as a Magic 8 Ball. This one seemed to have survived the explosion in one piece, the fluid wasn't leaking and it had not a scratch on it. Fernando immediately thought about his 2 kids and how they would love to have this toy, so he wrapped it in his jacket and carried it back to the truck where his rucksack was.

Just as Fernando returned to the rubble, two insurance guys emerged from a dusty black vintage car. They asked the first guy they found who was in charge of this job and the man pointed them towards Fernando. The stocky Mexican swallowed dry and took a deep breath as the two suits came closer. One seemed to have an itch as he kept scratching his shoulder.

"Mr. Botas?" The taller man asked politely.

"Yes, how can I help you?"

"We are with the mortgage company investigating the insurance claim. My name is Corgin, this is Mr. Chamberlain" Sam said pointing at his brother who gave him an odd look. Smashing Pumpkins, Dean thought. Dude, what the …?

"We have already talked to the police and the fire department, but we would really like to have a look for ourselves if that's okay with you?"

"Please, go ahead" Fernando said pointing towards the pile of rubble that once was a house. Only the mailbox with the house number 1088 painted on it was still in its place. As Sam walked past it he gave it a quick look, yet something in the back of his mind was screaming for attention, but he couldn't quite hear what it was.

Dean had already produced the EMF from within his jacket scanning through the mess.

"This is like a needle in a rubble pile. Absolutely nothing!"

"Try over there!" Sam said pointing towards an area that he identified as the former office as he was holding up a floor plan now.

Suddenly the EMF went crazy, whining like a cartoon mouse in a blender.

Dean exchanged looks with Sam then started digging, but as Fernando had already been there, they didn't find anything.

"What now?" Dean asked Sam who was just as stumped as his older brother.

"Just freaking great!" Dean mumbled kicking a piece of walnut furniture.

They found the local Super 8 Motel and booked a room for the night.

They sat in silence for a while before Dean dared to break the paralyzing stasis, asking if he should get a pizza.

"We have no idea what we are looking for, do we!" Sam suddenly exploded with frustration.

"No, but we have 5 days left to find it" Dean said, really craving a pizza now.

"Look, do you want a pepperoni pizza or what?"

"Yeah, whatever. Get me anything."

"Ok. And don't give up looking – we will find out what this thing is."

"Yeh yeh" Sam sighed collapsing on his bed again. Something was trying to claw its way from his unconsciousness into his consciousness but he couldn't quite make out what it was.

"Need anything else while I'm out?"

"Get me some Tylenol if you can. I am getting a headache from all this"

"Man, you are such a girl" Dean giggled as he closed the door behind him.

While Dean was out Sam decided to watch some TV, hoping it would help him ignore the buzzing in his head. It seemed to work for Dean in most cases, so why not for him? As he aimlessly flicked through the channels he found the Simpson's and only half caring, he left them on.

It was a weird episode and Sam had trouble to followe the plot. For a reason absolutely beyond him, this Chinese person kept saying "Number Eight" followed by Barney belching, then again and again, repeating it. It was as annoying as it was hypnotic and made Sam feel dizzy.

* * *

The next thing Sam knew was Dean shaking him violently, urging him to wake up. As Sam came to, he slowly realized that he must have fallen off the bed.

"You okay Sammy? Are you having visions again or something?"

Sam looked confused and his eyes were searching for the TV, which to his surprise was off.

"Did you…turn it off?"

"Turn what of?" Dean asked confused looking around the room.

"The TV..was it not on when you..?"

"No! Dude, I swear you are having visions again!"

"Help me up" Sam barfed. He refused to believe for one second that he was having visions again.

"So what was it about?"

"What?"

"The vision you idiot!"

"Dude! Don't call it a vision! It wasn't one, okay! I am over this crap!"

"Okay! Okay! Whatever it was…so what did you dream that could knock you off the bed like that, hm?"

"Simpson's" Sam grumbled rubbing the back of his aching head as Dean gave him the tablets and a glass of water.

"Who? Jessica Simpson?" Dean asked with a knowing smile.

"No! The Simpson**'s**. The Yellow kind!"

"Ah" Dean said understandingly then adding a confused look, not getting it "Why the Simpson's of all things, you freak?"

"Man, I don't know. It was weird. This person kept saying…" Sam paused as he was staring into space.

"I got you Tunafish. Hope that's ok. So what he say?"

"Huh? Who?"

"Your dream or whatever it was!"

"Something about the number eight." Sam mumbled not with it properly.

"Hey, didn't you say all those deaths seem to happen within 8 days of the previous one?"

"Yeah, but I just can't shake the feeling that there's more to it. Like today, at this house. The number was 1088."

"Okay, a strange coincidence maybe?" Dean asked munching on a slice of his BBQ pizza.

"And then we are stranded in this Super 8 Motel of all places!" Sam said pointing around.

"Kinda makes you paranoid a little, don't it?" Dean said garbled a big slice of Pizza.

"I guess" Sam said vacantly, opening his own pizza box from "Svantaggiato's Pizzeria"


	5. Chapter 5

_**PIECES OF EIGHT**_

**-Fit the Fifth -**

On their way back to Nogales/Mexico where they both lived, Fernando usually gave his friend Hector a ride home in his old blue Ford Pickup. At the border control they had to join the long queues.

"Hombre, where's your ID?"

"Eeeh, in my bag I think"

Hector turned in his seat fishing for Fernando's belongings on the backseat. His fingers barley reaching the rucksack he managed to pull the jacket off the backseat. Something fell to the floor rolling under the seat.

He looked at Fernando who only now remembered the stolen 8 Ball.

"Oh, it's a present for my kids!" he quickly said hoping that he could convince Hector that he had bought the toy ball.

"What does it do?"

"You have to ask it a question and it tells you your fortune"

"Like what?"

"I don't know! Ask it if your wife is cheating on you" he joked.

"I don't need no crystal ball to tell me what I already know Fernando!" Hector laughed.

"Okay, then ask it something useful."

There were still 20 cars in front of them.

"Eeeeh, let's see…"

* * *

This was the most frustrating case for the Winchester brothers yet. With nothing to go by then unrelated dead people turning up every 8 days it seemed extremely unlikely that they could prevent the next death from happening. This knowledge always present in the back of their minds, made them feel utterly helpless and frustrated.

Sam looked at everything he could find about the number eight: curses, rituals and numerology but nothing explained what was happening here. Until they found the connection between the victims, there was no way of stopping it. And worst of all: Tucson was really boring.

"Sam, I need to do _something_!" Dean implored, pacing up and down the room of the Super 8 Motel were they were still stranded. There was a slight panic in his voice.

"I know Dean" Sam said clicking on a few webpages.

"Maybe if I call Bobby again…"

"Dude! You called him like 5 times today. Give the man a rest!"

"Man!" Dean said, ready to pull his hair out, begging Sam to suggest something constructive.

"Alright!" Sam said slamming the laptop shut.

"Let's go!"

"What? Where?" Confusing and hope both fighting over his face.

"Out!"

"Out where?"

"Quit asking or we are not going!" Sam demanded.

"Well, if you won't tell me, we might as well not go!" Dean replied a little cranky now.

"Will you stop being so childish Dean? You said it yourself. You need to do _something_ and you are right. So let's go!"

"Yes, but _where_?"

Sam snatched the car keys from the table and walked out of the room. Dean stood there confused for a minute about the fact that Sam was taking control like that, then grabbing his jacket in one smooth movement closing the door of room 8 behind him, following Sam outside.

While putting his jacket on and arranging its collar, he addressed Sam "Don't you dare drive ma' car!"

Sam stopped and smiled "Okay, so you _know_ where we are going?"

"No! Coz you won't tell me, you cocky _bitch_!"

"Well, I guess you won't be driving then, _jerk_!" Sam said, lifting his eyebrows while pushing his head forward in a very smug way. Without waiting for a snotty reply he got into the driver seat. Unsure how to contest this very solid argument Dean cursed under his breath and surrendered himself to riding shotgun.

* * *

Sam directed the Impala into a crowded car park. Colorful posters and banners were all over the place so his "surprise" no longer was one.

"Dude, a Rodeo?" Dean asked flabbergasted. He truly hadn't expected that. He was more counting on a boring art museum of minigolf park or something.

Sam turned the engine off and looked at Dean, challenging the stereotypical view of his little brother.

"I thought you might like it. Remember how back in Kansas Dad used to take us to the Rodeo?"

"Yeah, he bought me my first cowboy hat that day" Dean said looking glass-eyed all of a sudden.

"Come on Bandit, maybe we can find you a hat!" Sam grinned, patting Dean's knee.

It was a loud and smelly place. Buzzers were cutting through the hot air, metal gates flung open and people were cheering. A distinctive scent of cattle and quarter horses was lingering in the air.

This beats sitting in a boring motel room anytime, Sam thought, while his arms were full with tacos that mainly belonged to Dean (but who couldn't carry anymore himself), following Dean to their seats somewhere in the middle rows of the arena.

The next round had already begun and a massive steer was just stomping into the arena shaking the bleachers.

Dean was wearing a straw cowboy hat now that Sam hat bought for him at a merchandise stand while Dean was stocking up the food and drink supplies as if they were going on an expedition. Dean was happy like a 5 year old at Christmas.

"Hey look! Rodeo clowns!" he said.

"Yes, don't remind me" Sam grumbled feeling a bit nauseous all of a sudden. He remembered why he usually stayed away from these events

"Man, this is _awesome_! Thanks for the hat by the way" Dean said, his big eyes looking up.

"You are welcome" Sam smiled back, truthfully meaning it.

"What's with the sudden change of heart though?"

"What do you mean?" Sam replied innocently slurping his cold drink.

"Because you are usually acting all grinch-like when fun's involved! Like back in San Diego!"

"Yeah, well, I figured since there is not much else we can do, we might as well have fun"

"You are enjoying this, aren't you?" Dean grinned.

"A little" Sam replied, trying to hide his true feelings, but a smile crept up one side of his mouth.

"We have to get you a hat too" Dean said, then suddenly cheering for the cowboy who had just wrestled the steer in only 3,5 mins.

Sam looked at Dean and his excitement made him feel strangely accomplished. It was nice that he was able to do something good for Dean, especially when there was not much time left for him.

Sam took a moment to look at the crowd and just take in the whole event.

A lot of Mexicans were here, but he also spotted a few Natives Americans. He never quite understood the whole meaning of a Rodeo and he wished he could sometimes just be like Dean who just liked things for the shear fun of it, without having to analyze everything to death. He probably imagined himself riding a bull right now, being the greatest cowboy the world had ever seen. Sam tried not to think about how much he would miss his always positive outlook on things, no matter how bad they were. Like him going to hell.

Sam couldn't help but suddenly notice a beautiful Mexican girl to his right and to his surprise she looked over and smiled at him. He was unable to resist and his grumpy face lit up.

The men next to the beautiful girl looked familiar to Sam but he couldn't remember where he had seen him before. Probably nothing he thought.

"Yeehaaw!" Dean yelled pulling Sam back into the Now, reminding him that he was here with a 5 year old kid in a man's body.

"What just happened?" Sam asked, unwilling to take his eyes off the girl, but he managed.

"That guy stayed on for _ever_!" Dean looked over to the board showing the scores.

The bull's name was Eight Ball and had just scored 88 points.

Dean and Sam exchanged an uncomfortable look.

"Means nothing, I am sure" Dean said wiping the thought off like a glass of a table.


	6. Chapter 6

_**PIECES OF EIGHT**_

**-Fit the Sixth-**

At the end of the Rodeo Dean had to take a leak so he went to the back of the arena in search of the restrooms.

Suddenly there was a lot of commotion and people shouting frantically both in English and Spanish. Sam must have heard it too "Something happened?" he said, panting, as he came running towards Dean trying to catch up.

"I don't know. Sounds like it!"

Sam grabbed the first person that was rushing past them, asking what was going on.

"El torro…es _el diablo_!" the man yelled, his brown eyes felt with terror.

Dean and Sam once again exchanged an identical look and simultaneously started running towards the noise.

A young woman was in hysterics and a bull was going mental. 10 people were forcing the heaving beast back into its trailer where it started kicking the barriers, bellowing like it had the before mentioned devil in him. After Dean and Sam had managed to squeeze through the tight crowd of sweaty spectators, they could finally understand what had happened. A bloody body lay near the bull cage, hardly recognizable as a human being anymore.

"Good god!" Dean exhaled as he tried to look away and they both grimaced with disgust.

Amongst the crowd Sam suddenly spotted that Mexican girl from before that had smiled at him. Now she was in tears and comforted by an stocky older man and suddenly it clicked and Sam remembered where he had seen the man before.

He pulled Dean away with him to explain his conclusion.

"Dean, that man over there is the guy from the crew that was cleaning up the house 1088 a few days ago – 8 days ago to be precise!"

"He is?"

"Yes, and it looks like he knows the dead guy there. Look!"

"Okay, if you say so! Looks like we finally found our connection! Good job we came here, ey? Okay, I say we split. I find out how the bull could have gone all Tasmanian Devil and you ask this guy there what he knows about any objects– meet you back in half an hour at the car!"

Sam approached the situation courteously. Every time he was forced to do this kind of thing he wasn't really sure how to start these very awkward conversations.

"Aren't you Fernando Botas? I don't know if you remember me, we met a few days ago at the site of Mr Prusznowski's house" Sam said with a compassionate soft smile, whilst secretly cursing Jim's unpronounceable last name.

Fernando looked at Sam seriously distressed, yet he seemed to recognize Sam.

"Yes, I remember you. The insurance guy" Fernando said.

"What happened here?" Sam asked innocently.

The girl next to Fernando suddenly looked up at Sam recognizing the cute boy from the bleachers.

"It was the bull!" She exploded unexpectedly "He is cursed!" She cried out, a wild fury flashing up in her almond shaped eyes.

"Why would you say that?" Fernando was clearly surprised by this comment.

"My father bought the bull only a few days ago! Because of _you_, Fernando! He told me about the cursed ball! And now _está muerto_!" Suddenly she pushed Fernando away from her and apologetically glancing at Sam, stormed off to be on her own for a bit.

Sam was confused but noticed that Fernando tried to hide something.

"What does she mean?" Sam wondered.

"It's nothing. Just mexican superstition" he explained trying to avoid Sam's inquisitive look.

"Look Fernando, I need to be honest with you. We are not really with the mortgage company. We are investigating 6 unresolved deaths and this one increases the toll to 7 now! I _need_ to know if you took anything from Jim Prusznowski's belongings. It's really important."

"Why would you ask me such things?"

"I cannot explain it all to you now, but you have to believe me that me and my brother are just trying to help and prevent this from happening again. Did you take _anything_ and did you in any way pass it on to your dead friend here? Because whatever it is, it seems to kill people in very strange or unusual ways" Sam was desperate for an answer.

Fernando gave his theory a thought. After all he had indeed taken something and now a friend was dead, but he still wasn't sure if he should admit to it. Sam could see that he nearly had him convinced and wouldn't give up now.

"If you have an object in your possession you need to tell me. It could be very dangerous to you or whoever has it now!" he pleaded, hoping to appeal to his common sense.

"Dangerous how?"

"That's what we are trying to find out, but if I am right, it will strike again within the next 8 days!"

"Dude, can you not go faster!" Sam said studying the map of Mexico.

"Hey, ma' baby sure is fast, but she ain't no freakin'rocket ship! Don't we have at least another 8 days left before the next person dies?"

"Do we really want to wait that long?"  
"No, not really" Dean grumbled and stepped on it, the engine roaring like an angry lion.

"So this Fernando guy admitted that he took this…what did he say it was, a _Magic 8 Ball_? To give it to his kids?"

"Yes, and somehow it kills people."

"How?"

"He said that his friend Hector had asked it a question a few days before he died."

"What the hell did he ask it?"

"If he should by a rodeo bull" Sam said leaning back with a sarcastic smirk.

"Man that's so freaking weird, even for us! I spoke to some clowns at the rodeo –" Sam cringed – "Yeah, good job we split! Anyways, they told me that this Hector guy had named the bull "8 Ball" and that he'd won every time, including today, then the damn thing suddenly turns on his new owner! Just like that! No one knows what set it off!"

"Something is very odd. Why would an 8 Ball kill people?"

"Think about it Sam! They all have asked it something and are basing an important decision on the answer. It seems to bring them unexpected fortune at first, but then -_wham_- they get the bill for it within 8 days!"

"Man, let's just hope that his 2 kids haven't asked it anything yet!"

In response to that Dean stepped on it some more, pushing the Impala to Warp 9.

* * *

**Nogales, MX**

Fernando's house in Nogales was situated at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac.

It was dark and the house looked abandoned when Sam and Dean broke in.

"Dude, why didn't we get Fernando to just call and tell them we where coming?"

Dean looked at Sam as if he was crazy.

"Coz that would be much too easy, now wouldn't it?"

Sam pulled an annoyed face "I guess" he whispered, deciding to not question it any further, following Dean through the dark house.

"Okay, where would I be if I was a Magic 9 Ball?" Dean grumbled following the small Maglite through the room.

"Upstairs?" Sam suggested.

As they sneaked up the stairs they noticed a faint light seeping through under one of the doors.

"Kids!" Dean whispered giving Sam a knowing look.

"Hey wait! We can't just bust in there and scare them to death!" Sam muttered under his breath, holding Dean back with his outstretched arm.

"Why not?" Dean asked innocently but with an evil smirk woven into the look.

"Dude! You are _not_ going to scare those kids!"

"You are right! I guess we are stuck, huh?"

"You and your stupid plan!" Sam sighed.

"Hey, I never said that I had one!"

"Which is even worse!"

"Manos arriba!" Mrs. Bota yelled from behind, the shotgun sharp and aimed at the Winchesters.

"Oh, what..?" Sam exhaled.

"_Hijo de puta_!" Dean sighed as he also put his hands up.

Sam frowned annoyed that they got caught and yet surprised about Dean's sudden language skills.

It took Dean several attempts trying to convince a temperamental Mrs. Bota that they weren't crazy house invaders. Eventually she called her husband back in Tucson, who confirmed the story.

"I don't understand why we couldn't get him to call in the first place" Sam hissed.

"Oh, where is the fun in that?" Dean asked, grinning like a baboon.

"Dude, when this is over, you are so dead" Sam protested, pointing back at Dean.

"That's true!" Dean grinned smugly, reminding Sam of the fact that he had sold his soul a while back "So you better get in line!"

"Oh shut up" Sam frowned not buying into the guilt trip anymore.

"Here!" Mrs. Bota said, shoving a black object against Dean's chest who was accepting it with a surprised "ooff" noise.

"Now get out! Get that thing as far away from us as you can!" she said in broken English, but with a serious passion backing up every word.

The Winchesters didn't need to be told twice.


	7. Chapter 7

_**PIECES OF EIGHT**_

**-Fit the Seventh-**

**Somewhere, MX**

Chewing a beef jerky and both hands full with brown paper bags from his Mexican supply run, he kicked the motel room door with his foot and it slammed shut with a bang and a click.

Sam sat at the small table, surrounded by a ton of books he had gotten from the library back in the US.

As Dean dropped the shopping on his bed, he noticed that Sam was scribbling something frantically on a notepad.

Dean's head curiously tilted to one side and tearing off some more jerky he came closer, looking over Sam's shoulder.

"Whatcha doing?" he asked making uncomfortable chewing sounds into Sam's right ear. "Numerology" Sam mumbled shooing Dean away like a fly buzzing round his head, before continuing with his strange scribbles.

Dean laughed derisively.

"Ok Good Will Hunting." He shook his head, as he hated Maths.

"Why are you doing it?" he asked and dropping down on the free chair next to the window picking up the old Magic 8 Ball that lay amongst those books.

"Because I think this all has to do with numbers Dean. The number 8 to be precise!" Sam mumbled into his fist which he used to support his head.

"Huh" Dean said tentatively turning the ball over to see if he could find anything unusual on it, maybe as a faint attempt to contribute something to Sam's research.

"I was looking through Dad's journal but didn't find much reference to the number 8. The octagonal shape was used by the Knights Templar for building their churches and during rites. Another entry described the number 8 as the symbol for Power and Sacrifice and when turned on its side it becomes the symbol for Infinity."

"I knew that one" Dean threw in, only half with it. The 8 Ball was fascinating him.

"However, one word caught my attention as it was written within the pages without any further explanation"

He pointed it out to Dean who felt compelled to pronounce it, his full lips pouting and relaxing as they couldn't find the right approach.

"Tsensisensei?"

"Don't try to pronounce it, it has some German origins and was only used _once _in the 15 hundreds to describe the eighth power of a number."

"Those bloody Germans again! Seriously!" Then he had another thought "Ok, what's an eighth power?"

"Okay, lets take the number 8 and multiply it by itself 8 times…you with me?"  
"No, not really, but continue!" still turning the bauble in his hands. It felt warm.

"Ok, Zenzizenzizenzic brings me back to numerology. Basically, once you get the digit sum of the eighth power of the number 8 it turns out it's – get that - 8 again!" Sam was watching Dean for a surprised reaction, but Dean just looked as ignorant and skeptical as usual.

Sam suddenly threw the pen down and turned the notepad towards Dean.

"Ok, your name's digit sum number is 67! So is the year of your car. Do you think that's a coincidence?"

"I don't know. Could be? Those numbers mean anything?"

"As a matter of fact they do" Sam said and opened up the laptop.

"According to several websites, this number in numerology means you are "Bossy and stubborn, you are one with no doubt, you like order and – get this – work those long hours to complete a project." Sam said with a cynical intonation.

"Ha!" Dean laughed "Good one! Wait, I am not bossy!"

"Also, you repress your emotions and could become isolated form others."

"Of course! Doing what we do day in day out!"

"But my favorite bit is "you want the perfect family with yourself at its centre""

"Hm" Dean said still pondering over the 8 Ball in his hands.

"Okay, so how is that going to help us with this thing?"

"Well" Sam said "I am glad you ask. There is nothing on a cursed 8 Ball per se, but we both have come across the odd cursed or hunted objects. So I looked into the history of this toy and that's where it gets _really_ interesting."

"Ok, hit me Will"

"The first 8 Ball was patented by a man named Abe Bookman in 1946, however I have it on good authority that a prototype was created a few years earlier in 1944…now, we have 2008, so that was 64 years ago.."

"Ah! 2008! Another 8!"

"Yes, but that's not the only one! 8 x 8 is 64 right?"

"If you say so" God he really hated maths.

"Ok, now I also calculated the digit sum of Abe Bookman which coincidently is 8 for Abe and …"

"8 for Bookman!" Dean guessed pointing at Sam.

"Yup." Sam said smashing his hands together.

"Nicely done Sammy-boy!" Dean applauded then he had another thought.

"So how is that exactly helping us with this thing? I mean it has a big 8 written on it so it's quite an obvious theory…" holding the ball close to his eye, trying to see the die that should be floating around in the dark liquid.

Sam sighed, folding his arms behind his head leaning back in his chair.

"I know! I haven't quite figured out that one yet. There is various lore and myths either making the number 8 a lucky or an unlucky number. A triple 8 is even associated with Jesus.." Sam pulled an uninspired face "…so at the moment your guess is as good as mine."

"Hm, maybe we should ask this thing?"

Sam frowned in a questioning way. Certainly an interesting theory he must admit.

"But we don't know what this thing does or how it is connected to those deaths. If it is possessed and we ask it we could be next. So far we have tracked down 7 deaths..."

"I have a lot of things I'd like to ask, you know" Dean said, still staring with fascination at the black ball in his hands. It felt like it was calling to him, through the warmth of his palms it felt like they connected.

"Maybe it can read peoples minds" Dean suggested, the curiosity creeping up his spine like a cat stalking a mouse.

"Gimme that!" Sam said, yanking the 8 Ball from Dean's hand, stuffing it into his camouflage rucksack.

"No ones gonna ask it _anything_ until we are sure what it is."

"Okay, okay. But then we should ask it if little Sammy here will go darkside one day and lead a demon army. Bet it knows the answer to that one!"

"Ha ha! Very funny Dean."

"I wasn't joking"


	8. Chapter 8

_**PIECES OF EIGHT**_

**-Fit the Eighth-**

**Somewhere else, Mexico**

"Thanks Bobby, we owe you one!" Sam said, before he was ending the call, wiping the exhaustion off his face with a sigh. Shielding his eyes against the scorching sun he walked over to Dean who was still wearing his cowboy hat as he was gassing up the Impala at this godforsaken mexican autoservicio.

"What did he say?"

"Bobby thinks he figured it out." Sam said, leaning against the warm car.

"Okay, what is it then?"

"He thinks it's a Pandora's box!"

"Pandora's box?

"No! Not _THE_ box! _A_ box."

"Well, actually it's a _ball_" Dean said feeling smug with that hat.  
"Bobby believes that there are several of these containers all over the world.

It's said that Pandora was created by the gods, each adding a special gift. Another name for her is _Anesidora: _she who sends up gifts."

"So this Magic 8 Ball is some kind of gift?" he asked suprised.

"I don't know Dean. If it is a Pandora's Box, it still doesn't explain the connection to the number 8" Sam kept wondering.

"So how come there suddenly is more then one box, ball.._whatever_? Why haven't we heard about this before – and why is there nothing in Dad's journal?"

"Wait! You are right! We have been looking at this the wrong way" Sam suddenly dived into the Impala retrieving the journal from its mysterious depths, flicking frantically though the pages.

"Aha!" Sam announced while Dean put the fuel pistol back on the hook. As Dean turned around to go inside the little gas mart to pay, he was followed by a Sam-Puppy that kept reading the journal.

"Dad also wrote that he found evidence that Pandora's Box was split into several units, one container for each evil."

The gas mart bell rattled as Dean held the door open for Sam.

"Dare I ask what the evil is?" Dean said while looking at some snacks for the journey.

"It's Greed, Vanity, Slander, Envy, Pining …oh and Hope." Sam said following him past the drinks coolers.

"Why do I have the feeling the one we stumbled upon is _Greed_?" Grinning triumphantly, whilst plucking a cold six-pack from the cooler.

"Could be" Sam mumbled making a step towards Dean who was making a step towards him, so they collided.

"Watch it!" Dean sneered squeezing past Sam to get over to the man at the counter to pay.

"That's 888 Pesos, Senores" the gas mart guy said and Dean looked at Sam who looked up from the journal like he could read his brother's thoughts. And actually this time, he could.

* * *

The door bell rattled again as they left the gas mart.

"So you are positive we can't ask it anything before we get rid of it?"

"Yes Dean. Very positive! Stop nagging!"

"What happens if we smash it?"

"I don't want to know!"

"Can we not burn it?"

"Don't you think this would release whatever is in this thing?"

"Well, we already know what's in there, right? It's Greed!"

"Yeah and look what it has done to all these people! Who knows what it does when it's released!"

Dean stopped and Sam noticed it not straight away, though when he did, he also stopped trotting back to Dean.

"What is it now?" he asked concerned.

"I am just wondering why we can't ask it anything. What if we don't ask anything that brings us any fortune?"

"No!" Sam sighed, getting annoyed.

"Are you not a little bit curious?"

"No!" Sam said a little more assertive.

"But…"

"Come on!" he growled, pulling Dean with him.

"What do you think would have happened if it had killed an eighth person?"

"Maybe that's what it's trying to do all along– 8 deaths and it's free or something."

"Where do you think the other boxes, balls, containers…whatever they are….are?" Dean asked, before he opened the hated crunchy door.  
Sam let out another deep sigh. "Do I look like I have all the answers for you?"

Dean looked at him, pondering a little then smiling obscurely "No" he uttered, diving into the driver seat while Sam got in as frowning shotgun again.

* * *

On the way to a very remote mexcian cemetery that wasn't even on any map known to man, but which was mentioned in the ever so useful journal, the Winchester boys had acquired a little handmade wooden box, decorated with vibrant patterns and images of the Dia de los Muertos which they thought matched the occasion.

They had filled the box with a mix of Goofer dust, salt, peppers and sulphur. Then they put the Magic 8 Ball inside.

After consulting Bobby one more time, they had decided to burry the Pandora's ball-in-a-box Hoodoo-style on holy ground, then walk away from it without looking back.

"At least that way no one can ask it anything anymore" Dean said, throwing the shovel on his shoulder. There was subtle disappointment lurking in his words.

"I just wished we could have saved the others as well" Sam said as they marched through the darkness back to the car.

"Well, I am not saying they all got what they deserved, but you gotta admit it's a little ironic. They all received good fortune just to pay the ultimate price for it"

"Yeah, and you were close to becoming the next in line"

"Dude, how many times need I remind you that I already _am_ in line?"

"Please don't! I told you I won't let that happen"

"You know, Hope could be very interesting after all, don't you think?"

"Not if it is also cursed." Sam reminded.

"How could Hope possibly be cursed?" Dean said as he threw the shovel in the Impala's trunk.

"You only need to look at us, Dean! If there is anything between mankind and the end of the world, it's us, and _that_ kind of Hope is pretty screwed up"

"Sammy the philosopher. Gotta love you coz you are my brother!"

"Yeah-yeah, whatever"

"No, I mean it. You always have... interesting ideas, you know. Keeps me grounded"

"If you think so"

"And you got me that _awesome_ hat too!"

"Yeah, I did!" Sam laughed "Though you look pretty stupid with it" he joked.

"I do _not_!" Dean said pretending to be deeply hurt.

"No, you do not" Sam chuckled, feeling like he was talking to a child that needed encouragement after it fell of its bike.

"Sam?"

"Yup?"

"There is one more thing I need to know"

"Now what?"

"Back at the motel in Tucson, when you had your…_dream_…are you sure you didn't have a vision then?"

"Look, I told you I am through with them! No more visions!"

"It's just…like you _knew_ that we had to go to that Rodeo, that's all. It's just kinda weird how it led us to the 8 Ball eventually"  
"Yeah, well the whole damn case was kinda weird!" Sam said raising his eyebrows.

"It definitely was. Look, if you say it wasn't a vision, then I believe you!" Dean assured.

"_Thank you_" Sam said derisively.

Dean grinned nonetheless having a thought.

"I guess it was just plain luck after all"

As the Impala roared through the night, back into the USA, the radio was playing a song by Styx.

…_Pieces of eight_

T_he search for the money tree_

_Don't cash your freedoms in for gold_

_Pieces of eight_

_Can't buy you everything_

_Don't let it turn your heart to stone…_

**-The End-**

* * *

_**Thank you for staying til the end - please let me know what you thought, even if you think it was rubbish - I wanna know ;D**_


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